


red roses

by orphan_account



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Attack on Titan Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <span class="small">"i want to write fluff," i said. i lied. <b>warnings</b> include. like. snk ?? and implied racism. if you're familiar with snk. if not, basically what's happening here is that humanity, shrunk down to the size of a small kingdom, is cooped up in these giant tall-ass walls to protect them from man-eating titans. the closer you get to the middle (the most protected 'inner wall') the more corrupted and evil everyone is!! so! fun stuff. hakuryuu and the rest of the ren family are regarded as somewhat of an endangered species because they are asian and therefore more of the higher-ups keep him safe, etc, snk is kind of fucked up but it makes for great character development especially if you factor in how fucked up magi already is.</span>
</p>
    </blockquote>





	red roses

**Author's Note:**

> "i want to write fluff," i said. i lied. **warnings** include. like. snk ?? and implied racism. if you're familiar with snk. if not, basically what's happening here is that humanity, shrunk down to the size of a small kingdom, is cooped up in these giant tall-ass walls to protect them from man-eating titans. the closer you get to the middle (the most protected 'inner wall') the more corrupted and evil everyone is!! so! fun stuff. hakuryuu and the rest of the ren family are regarded as somewhat of an endangered species because they are asian and therefore more of the higher-ups keep him safe, etc, snk is kind of fucked up but it makes for great character development especially if you factor in how fucked up magi already is.

//

 

 

The faint zip of 3DMG whispers across the grass for an instant before Judal releases the wires and they go snapping back into a tight coil at his side. Hakuryuu’s waiting for him next to the tallest tree in the courtyard, a thin jacket draped over his slim shoulders, his eyes deep and emotionless as they watch Judal make his way over to him.

“Late,” he murmurs, but it’s an affectionate murmur. Judal catches hold of him around the waist and fires off the wires again, flinging them up into the highest branch of the tree.

Hakuryuu under the moonlight is like a spell: silver dreamy edges and dark glows, mismatched eyes sharp as a cat’s. Judal feels his breath catch as he settles onto the branch, Hakuryuu lingering on his feet next to him before taking a seat as well. They can see the Imperial City spread out glittering before them, rich with pilfered resources, the gleam of corruption more promising than the statistical chances of Judal’s death crashing into him head on in less than three months.

Three months, because that’s how long they have before Sinbad wheedles more money from the pockets of the royal family and sends the recon corps on another overambitious expedition.

“I don’t regret a lot of things in my life,” Judal had said a while ago, his voice muted and soft, “but if I could do something over again, I’d just stick with the military police when they asked.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t, anyway.”

Judal’s smile had been cheerfully crooked, back in the day. “A life of adventure, going out beyond the walls? Following the only commander in this country that has combat ability? Doesn’t that sound fun? Besides, I hadn’t met you yet.”

Both of them are quiet now, gazing up at the half-eaten moon.

Hakuryuu breaks the silence first, which is rare -- he murmurs something that sounds like poetry in a dead language, and then turns to look at Judal, flushing when Judal starts leering at him, “shut up.”

“Getting a bit contrary over here, Hakuryuu,” Judal teases.

“I said shut _up_ ,” Hakuryuu repeats, wrapping his hand around the back of Judal’s neck to kiss him silent.

It doesn’t work as well as he’d planned, because after they break apart Judal wipes at his mouth and chatters on: “Oho, feeling adventurous now? You don’t care if someone sees us?”

“I don’t care if I’m seen,” Hakuryuu replies, “but you should care if _you’re_ seen.”

“We could go somewhere where neither of us can be seen,” Judal suggests, low against his ear. It’s been too long, anyway, since he’d felt Hakuryuu underneath his hands, took him into his mouth, worshipped each tiny scratch and each patch of scarred skin -- marks and evidence that there’s more to Hakuryuu than being a puppet in the military, that he isn’t just a ceramic doll shoved around by the higher-ups however they pleased, kept safe solely because of the exotic, endangered blood in his veins.

Hakuryuu leans heavily into him at that, and they spend a moment breathing quietly together, lips close but not touching. For a few breaths, it really does feel enough that they’re just next to each other, hearts beating steady. Judal knows better than to startle him at times like these when he remembers exactly how easy it is to die, and how precious peace is. It’s enough to steal a little bit of that false security back from the city, carry it between them to the serene night sky to air it out.

Hakuryuu’s mouth trembles with something, tears or whispers, before he takes a steadying breath.

Then he says: “Not tonight, Judal.”

Judal stills in disappointment, but only for a second. “Okay. I’ll be back tomorrow, anyway.”

“Promise?”

(There are no such things, anymore, but there’s always been something childish about Hakuryuu, untempered by the war.)

“Cross my heart,” Judal says.

 

\---

 

So they get a month to themselves before Sinbad and his over-efficient corporal kick the council’s asses into gear, sixty days ahead of schedule.

Hakuryuu learns about Judal, during that time. The average lifespan of the member of the recon corps is estimated to be six months, if the budget holds; sticking with Sinbad’s group of battle-tested soldiers gives you maybe a year on top of that. If you’re good enough. Judal, statistically, has two more months to live.

And an expedition like this takes at least four.

Judal seems to recognize this, somewhat, because they do a lot more talking when they meet up, a lot less indulging. Hakuryuu learns that he was raised in the barracks, a military brat, that he graduated in the same class as his cousin Kougyoku, that he had eastern peaches once as a child and never forgot the taste of it. In return, he tells Judal about himself: the story of each scar, getting teased as a kid for having mismatched eyes, his sister’s cooking adventures.

That isn’t to say they don’t indulge -- they do, a lot, still, stealing into an unused room, swearing hard when their sighs of pleasure echo all around the empty walls. Hakuryuu feels him up drunkenly in a sketchy looking alley one night, and Judal is so beside himself with glee that they end up rutting against each other right there, staining the back of Hakuryuu’s uniform with whatever oil and paint had been drying on the wall. Judal takes his time another night to kiss every inch of his body, laughing when Hakuryuu squirms away in embarrassment before demanding more, and then they go over his scars together, and Judal reacts as visibly and variably to each story as an eager child even though he’s heard it all more than once or twice.

Hakuryuu takes him on patrol some other nights, liking the feeling of children gazing at them in wonder when a breeze rips Judal’s forest green cape out behind him, making him look like a war hero instead of a resource-sapping boy counting down the days until his death catches up to him.

The night before briefing finds Judal leaping over the courtyard wall again to meet Hakuryuu at the base of the tallest tree.

Hakuryuu tries not to cry, but he’s got a soft heart when it isn’t shielded by armor and a uniform. He sniffles when Judal presses him into the trunk of the tree and tries to wipe his tears away.

“You’re crying for no reason,” Judal tells him lightly. “Not jealous, are you? I mean, the squad is full of fine asses, comes from being flung around in the forest on a daily basis, but --”

“I can’t believe you’re _joking_ about this,” Hakuryuu gets out. “What if… what if you… what if you don’t…?”

Judal’s fingers push against his lips. “Shh. Bad luck to say it out loud, love. I’ll come back and tell you all about the world outside the walls, you just wait, you’re gonna get so sick of it you’ll have to send me away again.”

They don’t say it out loud -- superstition has a tight hold on Judal, and Hakuryuu has a habit of losing things he cares about -- but neither of them are stupid enough to ignore the way the pet name sends a startled shiver through Hakuryuu’s body.

He looks uncertainly through wet eyelashes. “Ju--”

Judal’s face shuts down for a second, and the difference is stark even for that short a time period: his mouth gets tired and unhappy and the bruise clouding over his cheek from a tavern brawl two nights ago looks darker and more ugly and the strange, ever-present hunger in his eyes goes dark. Then the smile is back, teasing and confident, dancing a dangerous tango along the edge of being annoyingly so. “This courtyard looks sad as fuck, by the way. I’ll give you six months to turn it into paradise while I’m gone.”

“Six--”

Judal leans in to kiss him hard and fast, hard enough to feel bruising, hard enough that Hakuryuu practically absorbs the drumbeat of his heart into his chest and thinks, momentarily, idiotically, that he now has two hearts beating inside of him. Then he turns away, zip wires unraveling from his sides, and offers nothing more than the opportunity to watch the graceful arch of his body as he goes.

 

\---

 

Kouha finds him in the courtyard, talking to the summer roses.

It’s cliche to grow red roses, but Hakuryuu does anyway, watching them bloom and spot and blossom, coaxing the petals to open each morning, uncaring of thorns. He has different flowers, too, situated in a circle around the tallest tree; he works on it when he’s off duty, dirtying his hands with something other than the moral pollution of the city, and he keeps it a secret, because the garden is for him and Judal alone.

But sometimes, he has visitors.

Like now.

“Ryuu!” There’s a hand on his shoulder, small but heavy; Hakuryuu looks up to see his cousin’s hair dangling over him, and then down again at the bits of red under his nails.

“What is it? An attack?”

Kouha shakes his head. “They’re back, they’re coming in through the wall right now. The Commander has --”

Hakuryuu’s on his feet at once; he towers over his delicate-looking cousin. Kouha is a high ranking officer in the army, fearless and bloodthirsty, but right now he looks like the kid he is, wide eyed and pouting and pale, wearing shorts that would warrant an arrest for anyone not a member of their endangered species of a family. If anyone is the doll of the military, Hakuryuu thinks, it should be Kouha.

But Kouha has no concept of danger, and he does.

“How many survived?”

“I dunno, it was a little unclear -- about sixty-five percent returned, from my eyeballing, healthy on horseback, not a lot wounded, but,” Kouha shudders, “everyone else in pieces.”

“I see.” _Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep calm._

“Anyway, that woman says we need to go out and welcome them, show support to our comrades or what the fuck ever, and Gyoku’s hanging out with that blond brat again so, wanna come with?”

Hakuryuu nods, numb, dread coursing through his veins.

Because it’s been a long time -- not four months, not five, but eight.

Eight months.

He’d watched Kougyoku reject fourteen marriage proposals.

He’d watched Hakuei reject Kouen even more than that.

He’d watched his blood colored roses grow.

“Hey, put this on, you need to look exotic and scary,” Kouha says, throwing something around his shoulders. Hakuryuu recognizes it blindly as some kind of robe, but he doesn’t register the pattern or color of it as Kouha leads him out of the courtyard and onto the streets. They walk on foot towards the mouth of the gate, where Hakuei and Kouen and Koumei are standing, looking grave and beautiful.

Hakuryuu scans the crowd of sullen looking faces. He does so habitually, but fleetingly. Next to him, Kouha’s muttering names under his breath, interjecting the occasional “oh thank God” but not having time to say much more.

The cavalry passes by without a single smile on their faces.

Hakuryuu’s stomach drops. Across the street, he meets his mother’s eyes. Her lips curve slowly, a steady poison.

Because then the cart of dead bodies and mismatched limbs rolls by.

Among them, nothing.

 

\---

 

Hakuryuu screams.

 

\---

 

_Judal. Judal, Judal, Judal._

 

\---

 

The average lifespan of a member of the military police is long. Too long, in fact.

Three days after the recon corps return from the expedition, Sinbad spins tales of valor and grandiosity in the council chambers, expecting more money, more resources. New horses, he insists on new horses. More promotional material. Clean uniforms, because faking it in front of the public is half the battle.

Instead what he gets is a rampage, three hundred titans breaking into the inner wall out of seemingly nowhere.

The city goes up in flames.

In the middle of battle, sailing through ash and dust and blood, Kouha looks like a nightmare, a mad general, his eyes and his voice singing as he slashes. Kouha graduated top of their class with ease, and now Hakuryuu knows why. There isn’t a drop of panic in his cousin’s bloodstream as he slices his way strategically through the city.

Kougyoku, too, flashes between buildings, a sharp swing of her sword swiping off her long hair. It falls to the ground, heavy and impractical, but at least she doesn’t go down with it. Hakuryuu thinks he’s doing fairly well until three of them have him cornered up against what was once the library.

He’s breathing hard and his palms are slick with blood and his body twinges with the adrenaline of battle, and he thinks maybe this isn’t the worst way to go.

The middle titan, a ten-meter thing with dulled eyes and a mechanical mouth, leans in, and Hakuryuu flings one of his blades through the middle of its tongue, gazes straight into the yawning hungry mouth, sees nothing inside.

A second one, smaller and faster, swipes his arm from his body.

And the third one clamps its teeth firmly through the left side of his torso.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ceiling is dark.

So is everything else.

In fact, everything is dark save for something gold glinting by the door.

A key?

Hakuryuu closes his eyes. He can’t remember having opened them in the first place.

“Hakuryuu? _Hakuryuu_?”

Hakuryuu keeps his eyes closed, because Judal’s voice only appears when they are.

A palm on his cheek. Gentle. Fingers at his forehead.

Hakuryuu leans into the touch blindly. God. He’d missed this.

“Hey, open your eyes.”

Hakuryuu doesn’t. Fuck Judal, he doesn’t have to listen to him.

“Hakuryuu, come on. Open your eyes.”

The note of half-panic on Judal’s voice, though… that’s not something he dreams up.

“Why should I?” he whispers.

“Don’t you want to see my beautiful face?”

“That’s what you always say.”

“What do you mean? This is the first time I’ve said it.”

“No, it’s not.” His face feels hot. “It’s not.”

“...I’m going to pry your eyes open. What’s wrong, you blinded or something? Usually it grows back, you know.”

Hakuryuu cracks one eye open, a surge of annoyance (relief, disbelief, wonder) forcing his vision to focus.

Judal.

His face is skeletal, his hair long, but it’s still him for sure, beautiful Judal, his fingers spindly for lack of meat on his bones, everything looking too fragile, and too defiant, and too cheeky to not be Judal.

He lies there for a long moment, Judal sitting on his stomach and poking at his face.

Then he asks: “How are you even _alive_?”

“Did you really think I’d die out there? I’m a genius, Hakuryuu. I can’t die.” Judal’s smile fades. “Shit’s happened.”

“Yeah, no _shit_ ,” Hakuryuu replies, cross enough to speak crudely.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Judal continues, “but I bribed the -- look, can we just get out of here?”

Something irks at Hakuryuu. It could be the fact that he can’t move. It could be the fact that he’s apparently in jail. It could be the fact that all the emotions he’d had ready -- despair, grief, anger, stark hollowness, a mad dashing love -- are all being blown to pieces in face of Judal’s nonchalant tone and words. It could be the fact that he doesn’t know if he wants to punch Judal in the face or fuck him until he can’t breathe.

“I’m not going anywhere until you explain yourself,” he says. “And you… you changed.”

Judal’s mouth opens for a second. Then it closes. And it smiles.

 

\---

 

Judal takes his time when he talks to Hakuryuu.

It’s been -- eight, nine months? Eight months. Enough time for something unready and raw to come screaming into the world. He tries to nurture it, caresses Hakuryuu’s bangs as he does, but Hakuryuu looks at him with the same annoyed expression he’d had on when they first met.

He tries to explain to Hakuryuu everything: the politics of it that he barely understands himself, the complete corruption, the poison behind Gyokuen’s smile. He tries to explain the vials he’d always carried on him, ever since he was little, assuming it was poison, not knowing. He tries to explain how there were three others like him, but he can’t find the right words because he doesn’t know who they are. He tries to explain how he got ripped from his village as a child, planted into the military like a seed. Instead it comes out a mess, punctuated by expectant stares at Hakuryuu’s face.

“You have to come with me,” he insists. “We have to get out of here. You’re just -- you’re another bargaining chip now, more than you were before. Don’t… don’t play their war games, Hakuryuu. Come with me.”

“And go _where_ ,” Hakuryuu asks. “Like you haven’t been lying to me since the day we met. You always knew, didn’t you? You always knew that I was a -- a Titan shifter, you just -- why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it would happen so soon.” Judal runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think they would catch me, but Fr-- Sinbad’s-- Ja’far knows everything.”

“So Sinbad knows everything.”

“Sinbad… is playing the war game.” Judal looks disgusted, briefly. “To keep the recon corps alive. I’m sick of it.”

“Sick of it?”

“I _hate_ ,” Judal says, passionate, “I _hate_ this country. I’d burn it to the ground if I could. When I was out -- there was this kid, top of the 104th. He… he knew things. He wasn’t in Sinbad’s squad, but in the vanguard -- anyway, he told me all this shit. About myself. And then about you. I didn’t know --”

Distress makes it even harder to sort out his thoughts, so he tries again: “Hakuryuu, please. We’ll survive, me and you. We’ll bring this country to its knees.”

Something about that renders Hakuryuu silent. Judal watches him piece it together, flexing his remade hands. His scars have disappeared. He wonders what it would feel like, to be completely pulled apart, piece by piece, and then steamed back together. He wonders what it would be like to have parts of him replaced. He wonders if Hakuryuu is okay with that, if he isn’t, if he has a choice to be one or the other.

Somewhere in the remnants of the city the pieces of the war game are moving, shunted from one side to the other, Sinbad and Kouen and Gyokuen and the mysterious magician behind it all, exchanging Titans and shifters like cattle.

Judal knows he has to get Hakuryuu away. To safety, where he can get a grip on his powers and strengthen them.

With some effort, his mouth curves into a smile.

“Sounds romantic,” Hakuryuu says. His tone is neutral, but Judal starts to shake, helplessly in love, too afraid -- and, God, what’s _happened_ to him, to be too afraid of something like that?

“Hakuryuu…”

“I grew red roses for you,” Hakuryuu tells him quietly, a six word story to bring him weakly to his knees. “I never thought you would die.”

Judal brushes his fingers over Hakuryuu’s lips tentatively, waiting.

Asking.

Pleading, even.

“Run away with me?” Judal says, finally, their noses bumping together.

Hakuryuu swallows. (His lips are tender, new, soft, perfect, too perfect for Judal, who hasn’t seen the light of day for weeks, nor a clean stream of water.)

“Trust me?” he pleads, a third time, and Hakuryuu relaxes at last.

 

\---

 

_A garden, frozen red roses, snow._

_The sinking sun._

_Two long shadows crop up over the wall of the courtyard, hand in hand._

_“Are you ready?”_

_New 3DMG, gleaming in dying light._

_A blue-blooded smile._

_“Let’s go, Judal.”_

 

 

 

 

//  **end**


End file.
